


Capezzoli di Venere

by KatieHavok



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Part Kinks, Body Worship, Breast Fucking, Breasts, F/M, Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme, I Will Go Down With This Ship, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: Newt Scamander is many things: Magizoologist, fledgling author, war veteran, lover of creatures both fluffy and spiny, but beneath all that, he is simply aman. A human man, possessing all the foibles of human weakness, and very much a worshiper of the female form.





	

*

Newt Scamander is terrified, and for a change, it’s not because of some blasted creature he’s found himself on the wrong end of—well, unless Tina counts as a creature, and he’s starting to think she does, but he can’t entertain _that_ train of thought because it brings him to uncomfortable places.

He’s just saved her life (he knows and acknowledges this with typical humility, but he doesn’t miss the fact that Tina’s remarkable eyes are considerably warmer, whenever he chances meeting them) and maybe it’s the thrill of adrenaline—but then she transfigures her drab workaday clothes into a _dress_ , a fantastic, disastrous, devastatingly _flattering_ dress, and suddenly thinking in any linear fashion is next-to-impossible.

He holds it together as she moves to walk in front of him, suddenly every inch a _woman_ , with acres of smooth porcelain skin on display just begging for the brush of his hand. He holds his breath as he takes in the dark sheen of her hair, the rouge on her lips. He’s even able to keep his eyes in neutral territory when he discovers that the front of the dress plunges almost as low as the back, and he risks only one there-and-gone-again glance, while her head is turned, to admire the view.

Then she shifts minutely, and he discovers that the body of the dress is sheerer than initial appraisal would indicate. The light that now comes from behind her turns the fabric translucent and between the dark of the material and her porcelain skin—there! A flash of perfect rosebud pink, tightened by the chill in the air.

Newt chokes. Tina, thankfully, is busy watching her surroundings and doesn’t notice.

Newt is many things: Magizoologist, fledgling author, a war veteran, lover of creatures both fluffy and spiny, but beneath all that, he is simply a _man_. A human man, possessing all the foibles of human weakness, and very much a worshiper of the female form.

He’s also quite lonely, something he generally refuses to admit to himself. He learned long ago that his interests and tastes kept all but the most stoic of woman away, and he’s generally okay with that. Any base animal urges were easily _taken in hand_ and addressed.

That flash of nipple is enough to momentarily undo him. Terror slams into him at the same time that much of the blood in his body diverts itself _away_ from his brain. Thinking as quickly as he can with his cognition at one-quarter efficiency, he repeats tongue-twisters in the back of his mind to keep Queenie out, and then proceeds to review the twelve uses of Dragon’s Blood, combining the litanies to wrench his thoughts away from Tina’s perfect breasts.

This Herculean task is abetted when the _hateful_ goblin demands Pickett as payment for information, and by the time they make good their escape, he’s once again (mostly) in control.

*

If anyone had thought to ask, Newt would have told them that he is, soundly and unequivocally, a breast man. Legs are nice enough, and the curve of a woman’s derrière certainly had its appeal, but nothing compares to the primal satisfaction of palming and mouthing and worshiping a perfect pair of breasts. Preferably while thrusting into her heat, but even on their own—he can’t resist.

And so it happens after the book, after he returns to New York, after he and Tina embark on their obtuse, slow, maddening, perfectly _imperfect_ romance that, when she inquires, he requests she wears That Dress on their date and willingly allows himself to suffer the consequences.

They’ve been orbiting each other long enough to know the signs. She had been the first to kiss him; he was the first to touch her, carefully avoiding the most intimate of places but not shy in displaying his adoration. Newt thinks she understands the motivation behind his request in a way that he can never voice because her eyes light up and her movements turn more feminine, more seductive, as the night wears on.

They do well to maintain distance through dinner and fumble through a dance and stumble to her apartment, but by now even _his_ stilted understanding of human interactions is registering proof of her receptivity. Tina understands his intentions and, gloriously, she not only reciprocates but does her best to spur him toward action.

The door is barely closed behind them when his mouth finds hers, then her neck and her chest as he leans them against a wall. He samples tantalizing flesh, the scrape of his stubble trailing pink skin in its wake. He dips his tongue into the notch of her collarbone and is rewarded with a wanton sound. Tasting under the straps of her dress causes her to moan loudly, and she encourages him to push the dress down, allowing it to pool around their ankles.

Newt trails his mouth (and hands, and tongue) further south: over the slight rounding of her belly (he can smell her arousal, and his nips the juncture of her hip extra hard to signal his approval), suckling at her thighs (“ _Keep them on_ ,” he purrs when Tina goes to remove her stockings, and her acquiescence causes molten heat to pool in his groin), tasting the bend of her knee through the silk of her stockings, and then back up.

He slows as he trails over her sternum, laving attention upon the expanse of skin there. Then, gloriously, he allows himself the pleasure of moving his mouth over the bud of her perfectly inviting nipple. He sucks her into his mouth, swirling his tongue while biting down gently. Holding her clamped between his teeth, he pulls his head back slightly, stretching her as he palms the swell beneath. He releases her with a pop, finding her pebble-hard and reddened by his attention, before moving his mouth to the other side.

Tina is _alive_ with want against him, squirming and mewling and encouraging him with breathless sounds. She scrabbles at him with her hands, and it takes him a moment to realize that, while she’s all but bare, he’s still wearing...everything.

They get his greatcoat and suit coat and waistcoat off, and his shirt, while he’s attached to the swell of her breast and nuzzling his face where she’s fullest. He draws back but keeps his hands occupied when she magics his boots off, before fumbling at his waist so he can step out of his trousers and underwear.

She hauls his mouth to hers for a searing kiss, drawing him in and laying him out. The primal part of him demands that he take her against the wall, but he’s taller than she is and the angle would either not work or be exquisitely painful—not to mention he wouldn’t be able to sample her sumptuous tits at his leisure—so he drags her toward the bed. When his knees find the edge he scoots himself across the mattress until his back is against the wall, legs folded, and pulls her into his lap.

Drab, plain, prickly Porpentina is _stunning_ over him. Her hair is mussed, her mouth is well-kissed, and her gaze is wanton. She breaks their connection to drop her head back as she clambers over him, strong thighs raising her up before allowing her to sink onto his length. The feel of her around him is almost his undoing, but he distracts himself by burying his face into the valley between her breasts, rubbing his palms over her silk-clad legs as he pants harshly and struggles for control.

Tina uses his shoulders as leverage while she sets their pace, and Newt is perfectly content in allowing her to take the reins. Each drop sends a shock-wave through her body, causing her bosom to bounce and sway before his adoring eyes. He quickly finds that sucking her flesh causes her to hiss, but alternating between nibbles and firm bites causes her to release a litany of his name, pleading with him for release.

Newt braces himself against the bedspread with one hand so he can thrust _up_ and into her, dragging his teeth along the column of her throat so he can taste the sounds she makes. The spike of her nipples cut into his chest when he crushes her against him, kissing her hard enough to bruise.

Her orgasm catches them both by surprise. One moment she’s moving against him, tight and slick but yielding; the next, her heat clamps down and pulses around him, the sounds she makes primal and liberated and music to his ears. She’s milking him, and he has the choice to either withstand it and prolong their torture or to follow after her. It isn’t a difficult decision.

She’s still spasming around him when he comes, breaking their kiss to bury his face in her neck. Tina hums encouragingly while his vision goes white and she grinds against him, making animal sounds deep in his chest as he fills her.

When his vision clears and cognition returns, they sway together gently, and Newt trembles as she peppers the top of his head with kisses. Her magnificent breasts are tantalizingly close so he tastes them while he gasps into her skin, the salt of her sweat on his tongue. He rolls them both onto their side as he weakly pulls a blanket over them.

Tina is curled and pliant besides him, dark eyes wide. “You’re a bit of a tit man, aren’t you?” she asks, and Newt snorts a laugh. “You could say that,” he allows, and then grins. “I find yours to be true _perfection_ , Miss Goldstein. I hope you’ll allow me to prove it to you again, sometime in the future.”

“I think we can arrange that,” is her response, but he can see she’s already starting to drowse so he curls closer to her, admiring the way her curves fit against him and closes his eyes.

*

In the morning, neither of them are surprised to find her peppered with love-bites, red and purple bruises stark against her pale skin. Newt winces apologetically and insists on rubbing a bruise salve into them, but his altruism backfires when gentle rubbing turns into cupping, turns into tasting, turns into him slotting his length into the cleft between her breasts while she tucks her chin to take him into her mouth. He spills himself onto her skin while keening her name, and Tina smiles like the cat who got the canary.

When he recovers, he finishes his intended task, and they go about their day like normal—until that night, when Tina shamelessly presses herself to him and asks him to prove it _again_.

So he does. He strips her slowly and lavishes every inch of her. He discovers that she loves his mouth almost as much as he loves her tits—he rolls his tongue against her, and she nearly smothers him with the force of her orgasm. Then he takes her from behind—slowly, anchoring himself to her by her breasts and murmuring adorations until she gasps and trembles and clenches around him. He flips them and finishes with a groan, one nipple clamped firmly between his teeth.

*

It takes a while, and a lot of practice, but Tina learns to love the bruises he leaves behind. Newt learns not to feel bad since she’s so willing to be a canvas to his devotion.

“Aren’t you glad you allowed me to prove it to you?” he asks one day, after a particularly satisfying session of lovemaking, her peaks still stark red against her skin. He’s entranced by the sight of them, and they’ve reached a level of comfort where he doesn’t have to feel awkward for his adoration.

She laughs and smoothes his hair down, eyes bright. “Every day,” she murmurs and leans in to kiss him.

*

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the kink meme. The prompt was: Tina or Queenie/any, breast worship.
> 
> I couldn’t resist. Oh, and the title literally means “Nipples of Venus”. I saw the prompt and since breast devotee!Newt was already part of my head-canon, I knew I had to run with it. The dress in the movie caused my imagination to caper around—and the way Newt _looks at her_ in that dress is remarkable in how incredibly complex and understated it is!—so I had to work that aspect into this story. I hope I did it justice, OP, but there are only so many ways you can worship breasts and only so many ways to refer to them that _aren’t_ slang. ;)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr [@katiehavok](http://katiehavok.tumblr.com/).


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